around the doors. Boards that had once barricaded the windows now hung broken and rotting, showing the holes that gaped in the windowpanes. Maddie slowed the mare and glanced up and down the road. There was no one in sight, so she rode around to the back of the building and tied the mare’s reins to a broken-down wagon.
She walked to the nearest window and looked inside. Shafts of sunlight sifted through holes in the roof. The place was empty, but Maddie knew plenty about hiding and hoisted herself in through the window. She carefully listened for any odd sound, searched every possible hiding place before she gave up. There was no sign of Penelope anywhere.
A few minutes later she was back on the road, headed for Smythe and Co., Inc., the one and only store in Clearwater. It was the place folks gathered to buy, to barter, and to chew on gossip. Three old trappers, permanent fixtures, lounged on the front porch. They fell silent when Maddie rode up.
Under their watchful eyes, she tied Anita’s horse to the hitching post and paused to wipe her muddy shoes on the iron scraper beside the step. She didn’t know the men by name, but she’d seen them most every time she’d come to the village. Nodding in greeting, she lifted the wide brim of her borrowed hat and smiled.
“Don’t suppose you gentlemen have seen a little girl around anywhere? About so high.” She held out her hand. “Eight years old.”
All three of them shook their heads in unison. One spat a stream of tobacco juice off the side of the porch. Finally the one in the middle volunteered, “'Nita was asking around. Already told her no.”
“Thank you kindly,” Maddie said.
She forced a smile and walked into the dim interior of the store where Gilbert Smythe was in the process of lining up tins of peaches on a high shelf. He turned when he heard Maddie’s footsteps against the plank floor and smiled down at her from his perch on a tall ladder.
“Hey, Miss Grande. How you doing today? What brings you to Clearwater? You bring any pelts with you?”
“None today. I have a few that will be ready soon, though.” She paused, pretended to be interested in a bowl of buttons. She sorted through them, shuffling them around with her fingertip, trying to appear casual, hoping her nervous impatience didn’t show. “I’m helping Anita look for her niece.”
Gilbert set the last can in line, turned it left, then right. Finally satisfied, he climbed down the ladder.
“No one’s seen her far as I know. I’ve been asking folks when they come in. Told them Anita’s nigh onto frantic. It’s a shame. I hate to think —”
With his unfinished thought hanging in the air between them, Maddie silently cursed Terrance. Because of him, Lawrence was dead and a child was lost somewhere in the bayou.
“She couldn’t have gotten very far on foot,” Maddie said, thinking aloud.
“'Bout all you can do is follow the road to Stonewood. Ask at places along the way.”
She thanked him and left the store, walked past the men on the porch, and stepped out onto the deserted road wishing she had an inkling of where to look next. She tried to keep her jumbledthoughts focused on finding Penelope and collecting the reward, but the image of the child’s heartsick mother kept coming to mind. She knew the ache of Mrs. Perkins’s empty arms, knew the suffering of a woman’s longing for a child she had nurtured, cradled, and lost. She knew it all too well and wished she didn’t.
Don’t,
Maddie warned herself.
Do not remember.
She tried to shake off her dark thoughts as she unhitched Anita’s nag. Heading north, she followed the road toward Stonewood, an abandoned sugar plantation a few miles away. It was as good a place to search as any, though she’d never been that far herself.
She rode past the village blacksmith’s barn. Clement Stanton, bent over a sorrel’s hoof, smiled at her around a mouthful of nails, and waved. She rode closer but didn’t dismount as she
She walked to the nearest window and looked inside. Shafts of sunlight sifted through holes in the roof. The place was empty, but Maddie knew plenty about hiding and hoisted herself in through the window. She carefully listened for any odd sound, searched every possible hiding place before she gave up. There was no sign of Penelope anywhere.
A few minutes later she was back on the road, headed for Smythe and Co., Inc., the one and only store in Clearwater. It was the place folks gathered to buy, to barter, and to chew on gossip. Three old trappers, permanent fixtures, lounged on the front porch. They fell silent when Maddie rode up.
Under their watchful eyes, she tied Anita’s horse to the hitching post and paused to wipe her muddy shoes on the iron scraper beside the step. She didn’t know the men by name, but she’d seen them most every time she’d come to the village. Nodding in greeting, she lifted the wide brim of her borrowed hat and smiled.
“Don’t suppose you gentlemen have seen a little girl around anywhere? About so high.” She held out her hand. “Eight years old.”
All three of them shook their heads in unison. One spat a stream of tobacco juice off the side of the porch. Finally the one in the middle volunteered, “'Nita was asking around. Already told her no.”
“Thank you kindly,” Maddie said.
She forced a smile and walked into the dim interior of the store where Gilbert Smythe was in the process of lining up tins of peaches on a high shelf. He turned when he heard Maddie’s footsteps against the plank floor and smiled down at her from his perch on a tall ladder.
“Hey, Miss Grande. How you doing today? What brings you to Clearwater? You bring any pelts with you?”
“None today. I have a few that will be ready soon, though.” She paused, pretended to be interested in a bowl of buttons. She sorted through them, shuffling them around with her fingertip, trying to appear casual, hoping her nervous impatience didn’t show. “I’m helping Anita look for her niece.”
Gilbert set the last can in line, turned it left, then right. Finally satisfied, he climbed down the ladder.
“No one’s seen her far as I know. I’ve been asking folks when they come in. Told them Anita’s nigh onto frantic. It’s a shame. I hate to think —”
With his unfinished thought hanging in the air between them, Maddie silently cursed Terrance. Because of him, Lawrence was dead and a child was lost somewhere in the bayou.
“She couldn’t have gotten very far on foot,” Maddie said, thinking aloud.
“'Bout all you can do is follow the road to Stonewood. Ask at places along the way.”
She thanked him and left the store, walked past the men on the porch, and stepped out onto the deserted road wishing she had an inkling of where to look next. She tried to keep her jumbledthoughts focused on finding Penelope and collecting the reward, but the image of the child’s heartsick mother kept coming to mind. She knew the ache of Mrs. Perkins’s empty arms, knew the suffering of a woman’s longing for a child she had nurtured, cradled, and lost. She knew it all too well and wished she didn’t.
Don’t,
Maddie warned herself.
Do not remember.
She tried to shake off her dark thoughts as she unhitched Anita’s nag. Heading north, she followed the road toward Stonewood, an abandoned sugar plantation a few miles away. It was as good a place to search as any, though she’d never been that far herself.
She rode past the village blacksmith’s barn. Clement Stanton, bent over a sorrel’s hoof, smiled at her around a mouthful of nails, and waved. She rode closer but didn’t dismount as she
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